Captured Sparks
by Zea T
Summary: RID cartoon-verse. Prowl wouldn't have believed it possible to be infuriated and intrigued, both at the same time, and by the same mech. The new spy-changer on Hot Shot's team seems determined to broaden his mind.


**Title:** Captured Sparks

**Author:** Zea Taylor

**Continuity:** Robots in Disguise (2000 cartoon)

**Rating:** K+/PG

**Characters:** Prowl, Jazz, Sideburn, X-Brawn, Hot Shot

**Warnings:** pre-Jazz/Prowl romance, off-screen violence, un-betaed

**Summary:** Prowl wouldn't have believed it possible to be infuriated and intrigued, both at the same time, and by the same mech. The new spy-changer on Hot Shot's team seems determined to broaden his mind.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based in the 2000/2001 Japanese cartoon series "Transformers - Robots in Disguise". It is a work of fan fiction – characters and settings are used without permission, and belong to their legal copyright holders.

**Author's Notes:** I have no idea how big the audience is for a Robots in Disguise story – particularly for an RID Jazz/Prowl fic. I've speculated for a while now about why RID Prowl didn't have a Jazz of his own. I've seen a few mentions of Robots In Disguise recently and they reminded me to actually sit down and write this thing! Inevitably, there are G1 influences. Comments, suggestions, or advice for improvement is more than welcome!

* * *

The first time Prowl encountered the new spy-changer, Jazz was clad in black and white and racing down the freeway with wild abandon. By the time he lost the mech, almost two hours later, Prowl's engine was racing, the exhilaration of the chase almost offsetting the frustration of its ending.

The second time Prowl saw Jazz, the spy-changer was wearing red. The sleek sportscar sped past them and Sideburn was in hot pursuit before Prowl could so much as warm his vocaliser. Prowl followed the pair up side streets and down alleys, his sirens clearing the road for all three. It wasn't until Prowl transformed in mid-slide, grappling his brother to a halt, that Sideburn paused to listen. Sitting on the younger mech to hold his attention, Prowl watched Jazz waggle his shapely aft with deliberate nonchalance before driving off, and laughed harder than he had for vorns.

The third time Jazz cruised past Prowl on the highway, he was a near-perfect white, a stripe of brilliant blue echoing the colour of his visored-optics. The paint-scheme suited him, and Prowl said so that night, even as he revved hot and ranted about the mech's immaturity to a tolerant X-Brawn. The next day, he found a cube of energon and a thank-you note waiting for him, and all his scans for watching spy-changers yielded precisely nothing.

The fourth time the infuriating mech made his presence felt, he'd taken on X-Brawn's paint scheme – grey-green, with red highlights placed just so. He parked quietly, nose to the older mech's tail and when X-Brawn's human arrived, two sets of lights responded in perfect unison to her key. The female looked from SUV to sports car, both identical, both chirping their lights at her command and her face went blank. She returned inside to indulge in mild hysteria. X-Brawn fumed. Prowl just watched Jazz drive off, torn – as was becoming increasingly common - between his laughter and irritation.

The fifth time drove the laughter from Prowl's circuits. Jazz was a little too close to the centre of town, going a little too fast, and a human tragedy was averted by no more than a mechano-micron. Prowl felt obliged to report the mech, and Optimus was unimpressed. Hot Shot, on the other hand, spent the conversation studying Prowl with a deepening frown, even as he promised to call his spy-changer to account.

The sixth time Prowl saw Jazz was a demonstration exercise in slow speed evasion. The intelligence mech crossed every junction ahead of a changing light, leaving Prowl behind to fume at the red glow. He obeyed every traffic law, never giving Prowl an excuse for pursuit, and the police-mech never got within a hundred metres of him. They were three hours into the master-class before Prowl decided that Jazz was one of the best and most careful drivers he knew. It was another day before he realised that teaching him that had been the point of the exercise.

The seventh, eighth and ninth times Jazz and Prowl crossed paths were statistically implausible for chance encounters and everyone knew it. T-AI rolled her eyes, X-Brawn frowned and Hot Shot muttered curses under his breath. Prowl, chasing the white and blue racing Porsche across town and country, freed from concern for the humans around them, was having far too much fun to care.

The tenth time Prowl set off in pursuit of Jazz, Megatron dropped out of the sky without warning, crushing the blue-striped hood under his massive, clawed pedes.

* * *

The spy-changer commander, Hot Shot, was talking to Optimus Prime when X-Brawn and Sideburn arrived back at Base. The fact alone should probably have set off alarm flags, or at least made them pause to ask why.

That kind of hesitation just wasn't in Sideburn's nature. The hot rod didn't think before acting. He hit the other mech with all the momentum of his transformation, slamming the spy against the wall and holding him there with an arm pressed into his neck assembly. That the intelligence officer could probably break the hold without even revving didn't seem to occur to him.

"Sideburn, really!" T-AI's protest was lost in the ringing thunder of metal clashing against metal and the angry cry from Sideburn's victim.

X-Brawn, following behind and with a few seconds to think about things, winced. The rational part of him fully expected to have to pick his youngest brother off the floor, and probably put him back together again afterwards. Right now though, it was drowned out by the larger part – the one that wanted answers. Looming behind them, engine growling, the older mech frowned. He made no attempt to intervene, his yellow optics fixed on the spy-changer, waiting for the answer to his Sideburn's snarled question.

"What in the Pit has your lunatic done with our brother?"

"Sideburn! Release Hot Shot immediately!"

Optimus Prime's voice of command wasn't one any of them could ignore. Sideburn backed off a few steps, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. X-Brawn realised his were doing the same and unfurled his finger-servos with a conscious effort. Both of them were venting hard, their optics flashing with anger and concern.

Prime surveyed the Autobot Brothers with a tension in his posture and a frown half-hidden behind his battle mask. The absence of their third was impossible to overlook.

"Explain."

"Prowl's missing." Sideburn spat the words, his optics turning to their Prime, his weapons systems whirring audibly as he paced a few steps to one side and back again.

X-Brawn could only nod as Prime's attention turned to him, his own anxiety as deep as Sideburn's, if rather less vocal. "He was meant to meet us two hours ago. He's not answering hails and we've already gone over his patrol route."

"Two hours isn't that long." Hot Shot shook his helm. Prime's optics cycled through a reset, and even the experienced intelligence agent flinched at the looks he received in return.

"This is _Prowl_ we're talking about." Sideburn threw his arms up in emphasis. "The mech's not been late once since the day he first on-lined."

T-AI's eyes turned distant. The small, human-analogue form that the artificial intelligence projected pursed her lips, her eyes wide as she confirmed for herself that Prowl was unresponsive. "It _is_ rather uncharacteristic," she admitted, turning to Optimus. "I can't find a trace of him."

Crossing his arms, X-Brawn backed up his brother with a scowl. "It has to be something to do with Jazz." He snorted, still unimpressed at the trick the spy had played on his already-skittish human cover-owner. "Another of his 'games'. The mech's a menace."

The look he turned on his leader was expectant. Optimus Prime could order an Autobot to respond, and even a smart-ass spy-changer like Jazz would think twice before refusing the signal. He was startled when Prime raised a hand to stroke his battle-mask thoughtfully, a glance deferring his answer to the spy-changer's commander.

The black-clad mech folded his arms across his chest-plate, mirroring X-Brawn and half hiding the flame decals that decorated it. His blue visor was unreadable, and his voice calm.

"As I was telling Prime before I was so rudely interrupted, Jazz is almost four hours overdue for his last check-in. I can't raise him."

X-Brawn froze, his optics fading. Sideburn was less impressed. He snorted, shaking his head and pacing again.

"Probably just afraid to face the music for whatever he's done to Prowl."

Turning his back on Hot Shot was unwise. The spy-changer commander moved before X-Brawn could even think of intervening, and this time it was Sideburn who slammed back-first into the wall, an angry mech looming over him.

"Jazz is a good agent. One of my best. He's too good to break protocol on a world with confirmed hostiles loose, let alone Megatron's Predacon elite." Hot Shot scowled, the expression manifest in his body language where his optics and face-plate were hidden from view. "He wouldn't miss a check-in without a good reason - not even with your brother as a pit-spawned distraction from his work."

"So this mess is Prowl's fault? Not Jazz being a bad influence? Prowl spent yesterday chasing that maniac's aft, breaking just about every speed limit in the county, and he was laughing when he got back - laughing!"

"Enough."

Again, Prime's deep rumble cut through the tense confrontation. Hot Shot huffed air through his vents, stepping back from Sideburn and putting Prime between himself and the Autobot Brothers. Optimus Prime looked from one group to the other before turning to T-AI with a look that needed no explanation.

"Bringing Autobots online. Activating Battle Protocol." The hologram wore an intent expression, the console behind her small figure flickering in synchrony with her eyes. "Team Bullet Train – come in!" She nodded, her eyes distant as she listened to words only she could hear. "Team Bullet Train report condition normal. Build Team – respond!" Again the pause, the interminable wait. "Wedge tells me that the Build Team is still working on the South American land-bridge, and has experienced no disruption. Condition A-OK." Her eyes flashed, head cocked to one side as if listening. When she refocused, it was to give her commander a short, sharp nod. "Tow-Line also acknowledges. I have instructed him to remain on guard outside Koji's home."

"Good," Optimus agreed, his voice still betraying an edge of tension.

"The other spy-changers have already checked in." T-AI nodded to Hot Shot, and then turned back to Prime, her hands on her hips. "Jazz and Prowl are the only Autobots on Earth unaccounted for."

Her pronouncement fell into a worried silence. Hot Shot and X-Brawn exchanged grim looks, and Sideburn's servos fell away from where they'd been rubbing the back of his helm. All three turned to their Prime more in hope than any real expectation.

Prime nodded slowly, his optics distant for a few moments before they refocused. "Neither responds to my override codes," he confirmed. "I fear - "

"Optimus!" T-AI's eyes widened. Her voice rose in pitch, her cheeks flushing as her hologram generator responded to her agitation. "I'm picking up a news report!"

_"... in this leafy suburb earlier this afternoon, when Megatron, tyrannical leader of the Predacons, disturbed its tranquillity."_ The voice of a human reporter spilled from the console, the image that accompanied the television report swimming into view a moment later in the air between them_. "While no humans were injured in the brief incident, eye-witness reports suggest that two Autobots were involved in the altercation and may have suffered serious damage." _A perfectly-coiffed human female replaced the view of a debris-littered road, her eyes deliberately wide as she tried to add gravity to a story almost entirely lacking in human interest. _"While such damage can hardly compare with the loss of life and property since the Predacons and Autobots brought their war to our planet, we nonetheless offer our prayers for the brave defenders of our planet, and our hopes for their speedy recovery."_

The virtual screen flickered. It faded, leaving the Base's control room dark and still.

"Optimus..." Sideburn whispered, his fuel tanks roiling. "Prowl and Jazz..."

Prime nodded, one large hand coming up to rest on the younger mech's shoulder.

"... have been captured by Megatron," he finished grimly.

* * *

"Prowl? Prowler, you alright?"

The voice was anxious, its musical tones speaking English but with a rich accent that his processor tagged as thick Polyhexian. Prowl groaned, more interested in stopping the noise than actually responding. One hand came up to rub his helm, trying to ease the thunderous ache in his processor.

"Wha... what happened?"

"Sky-byte. Him and Gas Skunk, they jumped you 'fore you finished transforming." The other voice hesitated, wavering a little. "Saw it happen. Couldn't do much about it 'tho."

"Jazz!" Prowl's optics flared into life, cycling furiously to clear his last image of the mech's frame, crumpled under the claws of Megatron's beast mode. He scanned the room with frantic urgency, his optics adding to the glow from Jazz's single, cracked but functioning headlight. The spy-changer was still in vehicle mode, sitting low on his tires. His roof was torn, pierced by a claw and buckled under its weight. Beneath a shattered windshield, his hood had caved in, its white surface warped and its blue racing stripe almost obliterated by scratches of bare metal. The panel rested loose, its clasps broken, the mech's engine visible beyond its curled edges. Prowl stared, aghast at the damage, and dreading what more might be hiding behind the surface panelling.

"Jazz!" he repeated, more softly, stumbling across the space between them and falling to his knees at the spy-changer's side.

"Hey." Jazz managed a chuckle, his vocaliser choking off as his engine stuttered. "Nice t'finally meetcha, Prowl."

The observation gave Prowl pause. He tilted his head, his expression wry.

"It's difficult to know whether I should be greeting you or arresting you." He paused, his hand hovering over the battered vehicle before falling away. "I had wondered when I would catch up with you for long enough to hold a conversation."

That got another shivering laugh. "Was kinda hopin' for better circumstances."

Prowl shook his head, venting a sigh. "As was I."

He paused, taking a moment to look around the small brick-built room in which they'd been confined. The door had been replaced, a solid steel barrier replacing the usual flimsy human construction. Beyond that, the Predacons seemed to have done little work, leaving the building as it had been when they – presumably – stole it. Usually, that thought would be enough to incense the police-mech. Right now, Prowl couldn't bring himself to care. His optics slid back to Jazz and stuck there, helpless and horrified.

The spy-changer rocked slightly on his tyres, his engine whining at a pitch Prowl found deeply concerning.

"Look, Prowler, you've gotta knock me back into some kinda shape. I can't do nothin' to get us outta here if I can't transform."

The small, dark room was silent for a long moment.

"I believe Sideburn was correct after all. You are quite insane."

"Prowler!" Jazz's insulted tone cut right through Prowl's aching processor. He shook his helm, trying to clear it, still not able to tear his optics from the damaged vehicle in front of him.

"Without medical intervention to deactivate your pain receptors, any attempt to correct the damage is unwise to say the least. Medical protocols require – "

"'m a spy-changer, remember?" Jazz shifted and then groaned, his hood creaking as a corner caught under part of his frame. "Seriously, Prowl. I can dial down the receptors myself. I'm not talkin' 'bout major surgery here. Just knockin' out some o' the dents."

"I can do that." The new voice was unwelcome, and the flood of light that accompanied it more so. The steel door slid aside, revealing the brightly-lit corridor beyond. Prowl cycled his sluggish optics, trying to force them to adjust before his processor burnt itself out. He squinted into the light just in time to make out the beast-mode form of Sky-Byte take a swipe at Jazz's flank with his tail. Whether it was the momentum of the blow itself or the force of Sky-Byte's anti-grav projectors, Jazz's door creaked, a new indentation forming.

"Did that help?" The Predacon chortled, vindictive in his glee. "No? Want me to try again?"

Prowl was on his pedes before he could think, his fists clenching and his processor searching his subspace for a weapon that was no longer there. He interposed himself between his enemy and his ally anyway, helm raised high.

"You'll have to come through me first," he said, voice quiet.

It was curiously satisfying to see the sharkatron back off. Sky-Byte might have the upper hand here, but he'd faced the Autobot Brothers often enough to give his natural cowardice pause. Prowl tried his best to glance around without breaking optic contact, certain it couldn't be long before the Predacon Second remembered his prisoner was alone and unarmed.

"Gas Skunk - terrorise!" The battle cry came from the doorway, and the sound of transformation accompanied it. Prowl flinched, his optics adjusting slowly to the flare of excess energy that spilled off the new Predacon's form.

Gas Skunk stood in the doorway with Dark Scream behind him, both with weapons trained on Jazz and Prowl, both rolling their optics at their nominal superior.

"You done here?" Gas Skunk shook his head, looking at the Autobot captives with a sneer of pleasure and contempt. "Boss's getting impatient."

The presence of two mega-blasters on his side worked wonders for Sky-Byte's confidence. The Predacon's wide mouth spread in a grin, foot-long teeth glinting in the dim light.

"Just letting the prisoners know who's in charge."

"Ya mean Megsy?" Jazz rocked forward on his tyres, not able to move far but the snigger in his voice unmistakeable.

Prowl's sharp in-vent went unheard. A ringing clash of metal drowned it out, first from the hard thwack of Sky-Byte's tail against Jazz's bumper and then from the collisions as Jazz hit one wall and Sky-Byte himself rebounded into the other. Broken brick clattered down on both, the human-built warehouse not designed to take Cybertronian forces.

Prowl leapt without thinking, grabbing Sky-Byte's tail while the mech was still off-balance, and swinging him hard into Gas Skunk and Dark Scream. The three went down in a tangle of limbs and a chorus of squawks. There wasn't time to check on Jazz, as much as Prowl wanted to. He dived forward, reaching for a fallen mega-blaster, hope surging.

A stream of blue-tinted flame burnt it away. The fire came close enough to burn his outstretched finger-servos, certainly close enough to throw him off balance. Prowl hit the ground hard, sliding along it and almost into the huge purple feet that kicked the Predacons aside.

Megatron leaned down, optics glowing like red coals as they froze him in place.

"Autobot Prowl," he growled, his voice dropping almost to a purr. "I think it's time we talked."

* * *

Sideburn's pacing was doing no one any good, least of all the young mech himself. He could feel his tension rising as his restless energy built up.

He should be out, taking the fight to Megatron and his goons, not prowling around his own base…

The thought brought him to an abrupt halt.

Prowl.

Images of his quiet elder brother played through his processor. Prowl's scolding. Prowl's rare, rich laughter. Prowl in Megatron's claws.

Memories of his own day of captivity in Predacon hands, lured by his own obsession, sent a shudder through Sideburn's frame. The thought of the same happening to his big bro…

A cry of frustration burst from the young mech's vocaliser. Swinging around, he slammed his fist into the metal wall behind him, a deep dent forming under the impact. The wall panel wasn't the only thing dented. He massaged his finger-servos and found himself jumping when a hand closed over his blue-armoured shoulder and turned him gently to face the room. X-Brawn's yellow optics glinted with sympathy and a shared fear that neither was quite able to put into words.

Sideburn's eldest brother didn't speak, just took Sideburn's servos in his own, checking for damage.

"Sideburn, X-Brawn." Optimus Prime's voice drew the attention of both Autobots back to the centre of the room. The tall, red and silver mech stood in front of T-AI's terminal, but his optics studied them both, his concern plain. "You should get some rest."

"We should be out there! Searching!"

X-Brawn sighed, tightening his grip on Sideburn's servos. "Steady, little brother."

"You were searching for almost six hours, after a full day of duty. The spy-changers and the others will take it from here." Coming from Prime's vocaliser, it sounded almost reasonable. Their commander caught their optics with his own, allowing them to read his rock steady determination. "We will do anything and everything necessary." The promise spoke straight to Sideburn's spark, and he held the optics of the leader who'd already proven his willingness to sacrifice all. Prime nodded to him, sharing the memory. "We _will_ find them."

The moment broke. All three mechs tensed, and T-AI's hologram flickered into existence, as a deep engine note filled the air, rushing down the access corridor at unwise speed.

Hot Shot spun into the room, his flame decals glowing brightly against his black bodywork and his entire attitude aflame with frustration. Weariness was written through his posture as he transformed, the spy-changer's search as long and fruitless as that of the Autobot Brothers. Optimus caught the mech's arms, steadying him to give his balance sensors a chance to adjust, and frowned at all three of them.

"My crew is still looking," Hot Shot reported, tone abrupt. "You didn't have to call me in, Prime. I'm fine. Got work to do. Mirage seems to think he might have a lead." He shook his head, glancing sympathetically at Sideburn when the younger mech tensed. "It might be nothing. He'll let us know."

The surge of hope and disappointment just fed Sideburn's restless energy. He tore his hands from X-Brawn's, resuming his pacing in spite of Prime's deep sigh.

"We ought to be thinking about this logically."

He scowled, aware of the incredulous stares sent in his direction. He didn't need to be told he was taking Prowl's line. He knew that well enough. "Jazz is a spy-changer, right? A good one. So what's he most likely to try if he's been caught?"

"I don't know."

It was Sideburn's turn to stare. Hot Shot folded his arms across his chest, visor meeting optics with defiant frustration.

"I said Jazz was good. I didn't say he was predictable." The black-clad mech began to pace in unconscious imitation of his interrogator. "Half the time, I have difficulty even getting my processor around half the things he does." The mech stopped in place in front of Sideburn, his voice and expression sombre. "Having Prowl there will throw him off. The mech's been distracting him for weeks already! He puts on a good act, but Jazz is a loner at heart. When he's mission-focussed, he doesn't play well with others."

Sideburn felt his spark sinking, but he managed a nod, his lips thinning to a firm line.

Hot Shot nodded an acknowledgement in return. The spy-changer held Sideburn's optics for a few seconds before shrugging. "So, what about Prowl? He's here with the two of you and Prime, and I've seen him fight, so I know he's good. What will he do?"

"Prowl can fight." Sideburn confirmed, reassuring himself with the firm assertion.

"Yeah," X-Brawn's uneasy tone undermined what little confidence his brother had managed to build up. "But let's face it, bro, this far out of comfort zone, he's not going to be doing well. Put him in a battle, and he'll rumble with the best of them. Outside it?" He shrugged. "Prowl's a stickler for rules and regulations, Hot Shot. Pit, even disguising his paint scheme was a major drama. He likes to be on solid ground." X-Brawn scowled at the spy-changer, irritated with him by proxy. "That's why Jazz needs to leave the mech be – my brother's not a plaything for a bored chaos-bringer."

Hot Shot bristled. X-Brawn bristled right back at him, both mechs too weary and too worried to hide their agitation, or to care that Sideburn was looking between them with bright optics, tensed for a fight.

"Had it occurred to you," Prime's calm tones washed over them like cool water, "that Prowl and Jazz might be good for one another?" The three mechs turned, united in confusion as they saw their commander's raised brow ridge. "While Jazz's record with the spy-changers is exceptional, I have long thought that he might benefit from some discipline in his approach. Prowl, in turn, would be stronger if he were to learn some of Jazz's flexibility."

Put like that, imbued with Prime's ineffable wisdom, it was kind of hard to argue against.

Sideburn frowned regardless, not entirely happy with the implied criticism, no matter how gentle it might be. He didn't need to know his brother's weaknesses, or how he might be improved. He needed to know Prowl was safe and well and back in his brothers' care.

The bright lights of the Autobot command centre reflected off the vibrant armour of four anxious mechs, each weary, each silent and caught in their own thoughts as they waited for news.

"Hot Shot! Prime!" Mirage's familiar tones spilled from Hot Shot's comm and T-AI's terminal simultaneously. The spy-changer's usual arrogance was missing from his voice. He sounded urgent, even excited, and Sideburn was tensing even before he heard the report. "The Predacons! I've found them!"

* * *

Jazz was quiet when they were thrown back into their cell, and Prowl didn't known whether to fear the mech was stasis-locked or to hope for it.

Megatron hadn't been gentle. Where the other Predacons would have tortured their prisoners out of petty vindictiveness or in angry revenge for some slight, the warlord did it with a cool indifference. Jazz was a lowly spy-changer, not high in the Autobot command structure, not widely known outside of his immediate chain of command and the mechs he came in direct contact with. Megatron bore him no particular ill-will – had no real interest in him one way or the other, in fact, beyond the fact that he'd been seen associating with one of the famous Autobot Brothers several times in the last orn. To Megatron, Jazz was leverage, a tool he could use against Prowl. To Megatron, Prowl himself was nothing more than a conduit into Optimus Prime's inner circle, a chance to steal an insight into the working of his great rival's mind.

Prowl would have flinched to see any mech beaten, blasted by fire, paint-work bubbled and scorched, in punishment for his silence. This wasn't just any mech. Jazz was an enigma he'd never spoken to before today, a thorn in his side for weeks, and the inspiration of more laughter in the last orn than he'd experienced in all his vorns.

The fact that Prowl's silence wasn't entirely his own choice, that just possibly Prime didn't have a master plan his confidante could betray… well, as far as Megatron was concerned that just didn't compute. The idea that Prime might be planning nothing more than to protect the human vermin was as incomprehensible to the warlord as abandoning his own plan for world domination. Jazz had suffered for Megatron's blindness, and Prowl had watched every blow, and felt each one striking at his own spark.

It came as a relief when Megatron tossed them back into their prison, posting Gas Skunk outside and leaving to take his frustration out on Sky-Byte, as was his wont. Prowl needed to recover his bearings, and to think of a way to get them both out of here. And he needed to see if there was anything he could do for his companion.

"Spy-changers'll come for us."

The Polyhexian-accented murmur startled him. He hurried to Jazz's side, his servos hovering helplessly over the twisted frame. Jazz was still stuck in vehicle mode, fluid leaking from under his chassis but tinted with pink energon rather than the iridescent sheen of human oil on water.

Keeping the spy-changer calm was important, at least until he'd assessed the damage. Prowl nodded, his voice as firm as he could make it. "So will my brothers."

"You've just gotta stay strong, Prowl. Give Megs what you need ta, and don't worry 'bout me. Jus' don't do anythin' to provoke him."

"Says the mech who taunted Sky-Byte," Prowl noted, more to keep Jazz talking than out of any real rancour. Kneeling, he peered under Jazz's bulk, reaching out to crimp off the most obvious of the broken lines. It was pathetically inadequate as emergency care went, but nothing could be worse than inaction.

Jazz laughed, the quiet sound rippling with an undertone of pain.

"'m not a total masochist, Prowler. Thought Sky-Byte might jus' knock my emergency beacon on-line."

Prowl looked up at Jazz's bumper, optics brightening.

"Did it work?"

"… No."

Prowl suppressed his sigh, but he couldn't stop his vents faltering, hope fading as quickly as it had come. He studied Jazz's caved-in hood and wondered whether he'd do more harm than good trying to prize it open now. The thought of the damage that might lie beneath was enough to make him shudder.

"Prowl…" Jazz's voice was still musical, rich and deep in tone, but it was weaker now than it had been when Prowl had first heard it. It hesitated, the mech drawing in a trembling vent before he went on. "I jus' wanna say… in case I don't get a 'nother chance… these past couple of weeks, they've been a whole lotta fun."

Prowl's optics dimmed. "Agreed."

"I was kind of wonderin'… kind of hopin'… to get t' know ya better."

Prowl could hear his own spark-beat pounding in his processor. He knelt, silent, looking at the mech in front of him.

"As was I," he admitted softly.

The sigh of Jazz's vents echoed through the room.

Prowl was still for several seconds. The whirr of his servos was loud, his systems less damaged than Jazz's but still protesting the abuse they'd received, as he stood. His finger-servos trembled as they curled under the edges of Jazz's hood, and he felt the spy-changer tense beneath him.

"Whatcha doing, Prowler?"

"You said if you can transform you can get us out of here. Did you mean it?"

The hesitation was infinitesimal, the answer firm. "I can try."

Prowl took hold of the warped metal fowling Jazz's transformation sequence and pulled.

* * *

"Keep back until we signal you."

Hot Shot barked the order, tagging on a "sir" only when Prime's engine rumbled behind him. REV and Crosswire fell into convoy either side of their leader, appearing from nowhere as spy-changers so often did.

Sideburn and X-Brawn bracketed Prime, none of the three inclined to listen, all of them impatient to reach their destination. Hot Shot stood on his brakes, forcing them to slow, and making sure he had their attention.

"I mean it," he warned. "I have Mirage ready to slip inside at the first opportunity. My other people will get in when they can. I need you to stay outside, keep Megatron's attention on you, not what's going on behind him. We don't want to force his hand with his prisoners."

"Prowl and Jazz are valuable hostages." Prime would listen to his intelligence chief, that didn't mean he always agreed with him. "Megatron knows I will be… displeased… should he harm them."

"Assuming he hasn't off-lined them already."

It was possible Crosswire didn't mean his muttered aside to be overheard. If so, the revving of engines quickly told him his mistake.

Wind whipped past them, other vehicles moving aside as the group barrelled across an overpass with unstoppable momentum. Sideburn's fine-tuned engine whined, his voice grim as he gave voice to the thought on all their processors.

"The thing about hostages, you know, is that he only needs the one."

It wasn't possible for the convoy to travel any faster, but the engines of the entire group growled with their urgency.

The human-built warehouse complex loomed in front of them. At first sigh it was nothing special – an unlikely base for the Predacons, but no more so than a dozen others the Autobots had chased them from in the last few years. The senior Autobots slewed to a halt on the concrete apron in front of it, the spy-changers fanning out to either side of them, encircling the building. They weren't trying for subtlety, not now.

"Optimus Prime – Battle Mode!" Optimus Prime's roar shook the ground and the air. He landed on his pedes with a thunderous impact, weapons and armour snapping into place. "Megatron!" he challenged. "Megatron! Come out and face me!"

For several long seconds, the echoes faded into total silence. Then the broad, double-height doors began to fold open with a whir of poorly-maintained machinery. Megatron advanced through the opening in terror-dragon mode, the earth under his feet quaking with each clawed footfall. Sky-Byte floated beside his leader, jaw gaping in a far-too-smug grin.

"Prime!"

"Megatron!" Prime threw back his broad shoulders, his blaster in his hand, his optics blazing with fury. "Will you face me in battle? Or does your cowardice reduce you to preying on my people taken unawares?"

Megatron's snarl was his answer. The dragon-beast lunged, the meeting of the two titans thunderous. Neither noticed, or particularly cared, that their subordinates were squaring off, X-Brawn and Sideburn against Sky-Byte and Gas Skunk, the spy-changers driving rings around Slapper and Dark Scream. Neither had optics for any but each other, grappling, dodging blows and weapon fire, absorbing both where they must.

The battle could have taken seconds or hours, time meaningless until the moment when everything stood still.

Megatron hit the ground hard, landing on his back, his beast mode ill-suited to righting itself quickly or with grace. He snarled up at Optimus Prime, his nemesis poised above him with mega-blaster aimed firmly at his helm, and seized the only option he had left for distracting the mech.

Gas Skunk and Slapper had taken shelter in the doorway of the warehouse, firing around it to ward off the attacking Autobots. They stood frozen, together with the rest of the battlefield, captivated by the stand-off between two implacable foes. Megatron caught them with his optics, his finger-servos clenching into fists at his sides.

"The captives," he barked, voice harsh and angry. "Kill them!"

* * *

"Mirage! Report!"

"I can't find them, Hot Shot!"

Sideburn's mega-blaster roared. He transformed fast, his tyres laying down tracks of burning rubber that stretched across the concrete and left parallel lines up Dark Scream's back almost before the Predacon hit the ground. Sideburn launched himself from the ramp of Dark Scream's wings, sailing over Megatron's outstretched arm with a yell and landing in a skidding scream of tires.

He raced for the warehouse door, X-Brawn moments behind him, terror in both their sparks.

* * *

Jazz was not a tall mech. His root mode was sleek and streamlined, or at least, Prowl thought it might be.

Right now, he was a mess. His plating was torn, its edges ragged, and fluid seeped slowly between his transformation seams. His white chest-plate lay discarded in the cell behind them, the broad blue stripe Prowl had so admired almost lost beneath chipped paint, spilled fluid and striations of bare, twisted metal. His engine, exposed to the cool air, wheezed, an unhealthy note buried in its vibrations. His vents were laboured, but the mech's grin could light a room.

"Toldya I'd get ya out of there."

Prowl cycled optics and hustled the staggering mech through the door, resisting the urge to vent a sigh.

It had taken Jazz longer to come online after Prowl's makeshift 'repairs' than it had for him to hack the door lock on their cell afterwards. Everything Prowl knew was telling him the mech should be flat on his back, immobilised until a qualified medic could see to his damage. Jazz himself insisted otherwise, and, right now, Prowl had no choice but to listen.

Finding the door to their prison cell left unguarded was something of a surprise. The break in protocol was enough to set Prowl on edge, as if their current situation wasn't enough to do that already. Creeping through the back corridors of the warehouse complex, expecting to be recaptured at any moment, was a nerve-wracking exercise… for Prowl, at least. His spy-changer companion seemed more at home than he had any right to be, guiding Prowl with a calm good humour that left him both baffled and impressed.

All Jazz's skill and competence couldn't hide the fact that he was struggling though. The spy-changer's engine gave a hoarse rattle as he paused, leaning against the metal plating that lined the adapted corridor. He frowned at a locked door, the laid-back demeanour that both fascinated Prowl and infuriated him at the same time faltering for a few moments.

"Hey, Prowler. Mind if we check this out?"

The mech didn't really wait for an answer. It took him mere seconds to hack their way into the side-room, and stumble through. Prowl allowed it more because the diversion presented somewhere out of the way for the other mech to rest than because he shared Jazz's curiosity regarding the locked door.

The computer mainframe that lay beyond, throbbing and pulsing with power, took both of them by surprise. Prowl gasped, stepping forward. His optics scanned the screens and terminals in helpless frustration. His finger-servos hovered over the keyboard, and drew back, afraid to touch it for fear of betraying their presence.

"This doesn't look good."

Jazz's musical chuckle faded in a stutter of his vents.

"Nope. Can't leave a pretty toy like this in Pred servos." He glanced at Prowl, briefly at first and then for a second, longer look.

There was a thoughtful, pensive expression on the spy-changer's face. His visor didn't leave Prowl's faceplates as he reached down to his ankle assembly and opened a concealed compartment there. The device he pulled from it was small, round and had a sense of weight - of danger - about it that set all Prowl's enforcer instincts screaming.

The compact sphere rolled between black fingers, its dark surface drinking in the scarce light around them. Jazz's blue visor dimmed. His deep, smooth voice was tinged with doubt.

"This isn't good. You're makin' me second guess myself. Makin' me unsure."

"I'm sorry." The apology came automatically, but it was tinged with disbelief. It was hard to imagine Jazz being less than certain about anything. The mech's startling confidence was one of the things that had first caught Prowl's attention. It was curiously painful to see it falter now. "Jazz, tell me... is that what I think it is?"

"Yup." Jazz glanced away from Prowl's face, down at the device resting in his servos. "Hard to believe somethin' so small can do so much damage, right?"

"But... why do you have...? How...?"

Jazz's familiar, lop-sided grin was tinged with regret. He looked away from Prowl as if afraid to see his reaction.

"You know spy-changers each have their role, don't'cha Prowl? Mine's to do what has t' be done - to take out threats 'fore they turn into disasters or pitch battles. This Pred base, so close to Metro City…? It's a threat. Five'll get you one Hot Shot has me back here within an orn t' chase 'em out. Might as well deal with it while I'm here… save myself the trip."

Prowl dimmed his optics and drew in a deep, cooling vent. "You're a saboteur."

An agent of chaos. The antithesis of everything Prowl was. And the single most fascinating being he'd ever encountered.

"Yup."

"So you mean to set the implosion detonator? Destroy the base?"

Jazz chuckled, the musical sound low and un-amused. "If I were alone, sure. Two breem delay and I'd take my chances." He shrugged. "A shot at taking out Megs and his top Preds? Got to be worth the risk."

"Without a withdrawal strategy or plan in place?" Prowl cycled his optics in surprise. He looked into the mech's visor and saw only honest determination. "You truly set so little store in your own existence?"

The spy-changer's visor dimmed, his unsteady vents hitching and then settling once again as he turned away.

"'Till I met you, each day was kinda like th' next. One base a lot like another. All for a good cause, sure, but… Only so much killin' you can do 'fore you start to wonder if it's your turn t' go."

Not even Prowl's rigid faceplate could conceal his surprise and dismay. He reached out, touching the other mech's cheek-plate, forcing Jazz to look at him.

"Until you met me?"

Jazz managed another half-grin, shaking his helm. His engine wheezed, faltering under the strain. "Like I said, second guessin' myself ain't a good thing in this job."

Prowl bowed his head, letting his helm drop forward until it almost touched that of the spy-changer in front of him.

"Set the detonator," he said quietly.

"Prowl?"

"Set the detonator with a five breem delay. Give us opportunity to identify an escape route." He shrugged, trying to keep the distaste from his voice. "We will _improvise_."

Jazz looked down at the device in his hands, and then up at the mech in front of him.

"And if I can't getcha out in time?"

Prowl shuddered, thinking of his brothers and of Optimus, remembering his own ordeal on the day Sideburn was taken captive... and Optimus Prime's. He held Jazz's visor, his own optics steady and sure.

"If _we_ don't get out," he said, stressing the pronoun gently. "Then Megatron will have two fewer hostages to hold against our Prime."

Jazz looked at him for a long, long moment. The mech's fingers moved across the device he held, flipping up a small panel on the sphere's surface and flicking the switch beneath.

"Agreed."

* * *

Two breems would have been too few. That much was patently apparent. It had taken them that long simply to make it to the main warehouse floor, slipping from shadow to shadow, moving painfully slowly as Jazz's engine wheezed and spluttered in protest at the exertion.

Studying the furore in front of him, the sunlight streaming through the folded-back doors and the laser fire that splashed across the concrete floor, Prowl wondered if five were going to be sufficient.

"Sounds like Prime's brought th' cavalry. Makes me wonder why we bothered t' escape."

How Jazz managed to keep his laboured vents from affecting his vocaliser, Prowl couldn't begin to imagine. He shook his helm, his lips quirking behind his faceplates, one hand still holding the spy-changer's elbow assembly to keep the mech balanced. They crouched behind a pile of human-made boxes, their voices scarcely louder than their vents. Prowl shifted, moving a little to his right in search of a better view.

"I suspect Prime and my brothers would rather welcome the continuation of our efforts."

He studied the two Predacons that stood between them and the door. Slapper and Gas Skunk huddled in the shelter of the open doorway, peering around the folded metal sheeting of the door and firing out from cover into the melee outside.

Neither Predacon was paying attention to the warehouse space behind them. Even so, Prowl suspected they'd be far from sanguine about letting the captives simply walk past them to join their compatriots outside. Even if Prowl were prepared to risk it, Jazz's compromised armour would scarcely protect him against even glancing fire. As long as the pair covered the exit, Jazz and Prowl were effectively trapped. And as long as Jazz and Prowl remained trapped, there was little chance of the skirmish outside coming to an end.

Prowl's servos clenched into a fist at his side, flexing as if they held the mega-blaster he craved. The Predacons' backs were turned to them, wide open and exposed. If Jazz and Prowl had so much as a single weapon between them, Gas Skunk and Slapper wouldn't have a chance. Glancing down at the spy-changer swaying gently by his side, Prowl saw his frustration mirrored in the mech's expression.

"You don't have a mega-blaster tucked away in another compartment, by any chance?"

"Sorry, Prowler. I'll 'member to pack one next time."

Not smiling took an effort. Prowl shrugged, amused despite himself.

"We really do need to work on your long-term planning skills."

Jazz shot him a dazzling grin that almost outshone the laser fire. It faded a few seconds later, Jazz cocking his helm as he listened to an internal alert.

"Two breems." The spy-changer forced himself to straighten away from Prowl's support, a thin groan escaping him as he reached out to the pile of boxes sheltering them to steady himself. "Look around, Prowl. There's got to be something we can throw - distract them long enough for someone outside to pin them maybe..."

His murmur cut off, the sudden silence that fell across the battlefield outside bringing them both to alert attention as they tried to figure out what was happening.

Megatron's shout was unmistakeable, but the words themselves were lost in echoes and distortions. Whatever he said, Gas Skunk and Slapper reacted at once, turning and running deeper into the warehouse complex.

Prowl was still cycling his optics, startled by the Predacons' sudden change in strategy, when first Sideburn and then X-Brawn sailed through the open doorway. For a moment both seemed to hang in mid-air, launched into the room. Then sound and movement caught up and the moment ended. Prowl's brothers landed, their tires skidding on the concrete floor, and both as tense as Prowl had ever seen them.

The sight broke through his shock. He was shoving at the boxes in front of him within nanoclicks, using the only tool at his disposal in his urgency. The human constructs tumbled outwards, cardboard bursting and spilling tins across the concrete floor, forcing Sideburn to slew to a screaming halt, and revealing Prowl and Jazz to full view.

"Wait! Get out of here! The place is going to blow!"

Sideburn transformed. His blaster hung loose in his hand as he stared, his optics wide, his faceplates betraying pure relief.

"Prowl?"

"Prowl! You okay, little brother?" X-Brawn was moments behind Sideburn, striding forward and grabbing Prowl's arms, scanning him up and down.

"There you are!" A new voice seconded the Autobot Brothers' emotion, blending the relief with amused exasperation. Prowl jumped, still tense and wary and ready to defend his companion. He didn't need to. Mirage seemed to appear from nowhere, catching Jazz's arm when his fellow spy-changer swayed.

"Raj." Whatever strength had driven Jazz this far seemed to fail at the point of rescue. He looked up at Mirage with a dimmed visor, and his vocaliser spit static. "Implosion Detonator. Breem an' a half."

Mirage nodded, his visor brightening in shock. The spy-changer turned to the others. "We have to get clear - "

Prowl was only half-listening. Whether it was police-trained instincts or just the jumpy caution of a mech who'd spent a day in captivity, he seemed to be the only one who noticed Gas Skunk and Slapper reappear from the building's depths. His optics flared, his vocaliser whirring in a strangled gasp as Gas Skunk took aim, mega-blaster directed squarely at Jazz's exposed engine. There was no time to shout a warning. No time to follow procedure or for doubt or uncertainty. Prowl acted on pure instinct.

He took a step to his left.

The Predacon fired.

And Prowl's world faded to black.

* * *

The lights were set low, long shadows cast around the room, and stretching out in front of Sideburn. He sat, motionless, shoulders hunched, optics dim as they rested on the still frame laid out on the berth in front of him.

On the other side of the berth, X-Brawn dozed fitfully in a chair of his own. That was good. Sideburn's elder brother had put off his recharge for too long already, his temper fraying as the day wore on.

Sideburn's wasn't doing much better.

Neither of them were in any mood to rest, and even Optimus Prime had given up trying to force them. Their commander let them be, looking in on the quiet room from time to time, but giving them the space they needed.

The stillness was deep and oppressive. Sideburn felt as if he was drowning in it, his vents choking on the thick air. Everything in his nature called for activity, for noise and movement and action, but this wasn't the time or the place.

A quiet whirr broke the stillness.

Long white finger-servos curled around his, and Sideburn's optics blazed bright, a gasp escaping his vents. He leaned forward, hope and anxiety strangling his vocaliser as he looked down into dimly-glowing yellow optics and waited for a sign.

"Sideburn?" Prowl's voice was soft, a little slurred with recharge. He frowned up at the younger mech from behind his face-mask. "You look worried, little brother."

Air escaped Sideburn's vents in a gasp. He stood, the chair clattering backwards behind him, and the noise jolted X-Brawn awake.

"Prowl!"

The yell had Prowl wincing, one hand coming up to rest finger-servos against his helm. His scowl of pain couldn't dampen the broad grin that spread across his brothers' faces, and Prowl's optics cycled in surprise when he was tugged first into one rough embrace and then a second.

"What…? What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Sideburn's spark fell, his grin wilting a little around the edges. X-Brawn reached across to give their younger brother a swipe, even as his other hand steadied Prowl between them.

"T-AI said it might take a couple of minutes for his databanks to register, remember?" He frowned down at his middle brother. "You got clipped in the helm, Prowl. Just a glancing laser blow, but T-AI said we should let you do a full reboot cycle and then recharge it off."

Prowl was sitting on the berth now, his optics brighter as the last recharge algorithms faded. He blinked again, his voice soft as he looked up at them. "And you've been waiting for me to wake? How long?"

Sideburn exchanged a long look with his eldest brother.

"Thirty-eight Earth-hours." He tried to shrug it off as nothing. He failed miserably.

Prowl stared at his brothers, confused and worried by the reaction of the two most important mechs in his life.

Something about that thought jarred, and Prowl tilted his helm, as if trying to fit the stray memory fragment in place.

"What…?" His vocaliser stuttered into silence. His engine whined, his vents suddenly rapid. His optics flickered, memory algorithms running past them as his databanks completed their re-registration process. "Megatron?" he gasped. "Jazz!"

"Whoa!" X-Brawn caught his brother's arm, stopping him as he tried to swing his legs over the side of the berth. "It's okay. You're safe, bro. You're back on Base."

Prowl resisted, forcing himself upright, his optics bright with concern. "Jazz?"

The huff of air through X-Brawn's vents was less than impressed. He shook his helm, more in disbelief than anything else. "He's fine."

"If 'fine' covers a cracked engine block, and the Pit of a body-work job." Sideburn held up his hands defensively, backing up a step in face of the sharp look Prowl gave him. "Ease up, big brother. Jazz'll be okay." He reached out to help his eldest brother, keeping Prowl on the berth between them. "No point racing off though. The other spy-changers spirited him away for repairs." He rubbed the back of his helm, giving an awkward shrug. "You know how they can be."

For a moment, Sideburn thought Prowl would insist on getting up regardless. It took another intervention to get him to settle back, a sigh gusting from his vents.

"Prowl." Prime spoke from the doorway, his deep voice warm and glad. "It is good to see you awake. Jazz has been asking after you on a regular basis."

The comment seemed to reassure Prowl more than any number of assurances from his brothers. He subsided, his optics cycling wearily.

"Thank you, sir. It's good to be back." He paused, tilting his head in inquiry. "The Predacons?"

"Fled, while we were evacuating." Prime raised a hand to still Prowl's sigh. "However, Jazz's device robbed them of a valuable resource, and for that I am grateful. For that, and, more truly, for the safe return of you both."

The police mech flushed slightly, glancing off to one side. "My apologies for my capture, Prime. I will endeavour to be more careful in future."

Prime chuckled, stepping forward to pat Prowl's shoulder in wordless reassurance.

"Because you have such a reputation for carelessness." X-Brawn huffed air through his vents, amusement and exhaustion warring in his expression. "Unlike some mechs I could name."

"Jazz…"

"Is recuperating, and you need to do the same. Forget about him for now, Prowl." X-Brawn wrapped an arm around his middle brother's shoulder, shaking his helm. "I'm just glad this whole mess is over and done with."

Looking at Prowl, taking in his brother's pensive mood, Sideburn was far less sure.

* * *

The last time Jazz slid across Prowl's path, waggling his aft enticingly before hitting the gas, the chase lasted for hours. They weaved through traffic, and circled around it, exploring the city's flyovers and underpasses, wandering from the suburbs to downtown and back again.

The Sun was low on the horizon when Jazz led them onto a country road, and up a winding path. The meadow at its end stood on top of a steep bluff. The crash of waves against the rocky shore echoed from its base. Jazz transformed, the spy-changer's sequence smooth and elegant, almost musical as it blended with the sound of the waves. His chassis was smooth and perfect, the damage gone as if it might never have been. His bodywork had been replaced, the new plating pristine white and marked with the broad blue racing stripe Prowl so admired.

The mech stood on the cliff-top, his unfocused optics staring out to sea, a picture of precision machinery. He didn't turn as Prowl pulled to a halt beside him, or so much as glance Prowl's way when his fellow Autobot transformed to stand by his side.

A breeze blew in from the ocean, caressing their plating, cooling their racing systems.

A long, silent breem passed before Jazz's pale faceplates quirked in a wry smile, his visor tilting in his companion's direction.

"Was that as good for you as it was for me?"

Prowl flushed, aware of the heat still radiating from his engine, and the subtle whirr of his overactive vents. He shook his head, torn, as he so often seemed to be with Jazz, between laughter and outrage.

"Thank you, Jazz. This really has been quite diverting."

He spoke in a quiet voice, and the spy-changer shot him a sidelong look, hearing the undertones in his words. The smile fell away. Jazz vented a sigh, turning back to face the ocean.

"You know."

"Optimus Prime told me this morning that you've requested reassignment to Cybertron."

It was hard to keep the hurt from his voice. The last Earth week had lasted an eternity. He'd worried over Jazz's absence, despite Prime's assurances, fretting that the spy-changer was more injured than he'd been told. The morning's news that Jazz was going back on patrol lifted a shadow from his spark and brought the first real smile to his masked faceplates since Megatron dropped out of the sky.

That smile faded when Optimus pulled him aside, telling him the rest in a low, concerned voice.

He wanted Jazz to tell him it wasn't true. One glance at the spy-changer's sombre faceplates banished that hope.

"Why?"

Jazz sighed again at the bewildered plea in that question. He shook his head, still not meeting Prowl's optics.

"Because Hot Shot's right. And so's X-Brawn." He paused, his vocaliser whirring through a reset. "And so was Megatron."

"No."

"Yes."

Jazz's voice was entirely serious, the humour that seemed so much a part of him fading away. He turned to Prowl, and his visor did little to conceal the pain in his optics. "Megatron tortured me t' get t' you, Prowl. He didn' do it because 'm an Autobot, or because he knew anythin' about me. He did it 'cause he figured you'd care."

This time it was Prowl who turned away. "He was right."

Jazz nodded, unsurprised. "I know you're strong, Prowl," he shrugged. "Stronger than I am. If he'd asked me 'bout Optimus – with you there in front o' me an' his sword aimed at your spark – I gotta tell you, Prowler, I'm not sure what I'd've told him."

It took a couple of moments for that to sink in. Prowl turned, reaching out to take Jazz's arm, forcing the other to concentrate on him.

"You're stronger than you think, Jazz. And it didn't happen. It won't happen. Not again."

"It shouldn' have happened th' first time." Jazz didn't flinch from Prowl's gaze, his own steady and almost calm. "Hot Shot told me weeks back that you're a distraction I can't afford. He was right. If I hadn't've been watchin' you, I'd've seen Megatron coming a mile away. If you hadn't've been caught up in what happened t' me, you'd never have let Sky-Byte, of all mechs, get th' drop on you."

"So we'll be more careful."

"Prowler…" Jazz laughed, the sound soft and full of affection. "The day I can see somethin' happen t' you an' _not_ get distracted'll be the day my spark gutters and dies."

The very thought brought a gasp to Prowl's vocaliser. He didn't have to articulate his response, or confirm that the reverse was true. His optics and the irregular stutter of his vents spoke for him.

He couldn't deny the truth of the spy-changer's words, couldn't deny that Jazz was as much a danger to him as he was to Jazz.

The spy-changer looked at him, visored blue optics soft but lip-plates set in a firm line.

"I think we could have somethin' special, Prowl. I think I could care for you a great deal, maybe more'n I care for th' Autobot cause itself. I think maybe you could be th' only thing in this world that'd make me afraid t' go out an' do my job – afraid that one day I might not come back." He shook his head. "And that's why I'm sayin' no. Backin' off while I still can. Stoppin' this before it can really begin. That's why I have to go."

"I'll come to Cybertron."

Jazz reached out, taking Prowl's finger-servos in his own, squeezing them gently.

"Don't do this, Prowler. Don't fool y'self that this is gonna work. Your brothers need you. You know that. And Prime needs th' three of you. Here. On top of your game. A spare spy-changer or two…" He grinned, tilting his helm and shaking it. "No competition, really, is there?"

Prowl's vents choked. His processor throbbed, his duty to his Prime and his duty to his spark warring against one another. Despite his impulsive declaration, leaving for Cybertron wasn't an option. His very real duties and mission here on Earth… the world of possibilities that Jazz represented... He couldn't walk away from either. He couldn't choose between them.

Jazz knew that. Jazz hadn't asked him to.

It was a long, long time before he jerked out a shaky nod.

"Then this is goodbye?"

The spy-changer chuckled, low and wistful.

"War's not gonna last forever, Prowler." He drew his finger-servos back, and Prowl fought against the impulse to grasp Jazz's hands – to cling to the servos slipping through his own. "When this whole mess here on Earth is over, you'd better look me up, or believe me, I'm gonna come huntin'."

Prowl managed a wan smile behind his face-plate, and Jazz's servo came up, just for a moment, caressing the plate as if he could feel the lips behind. Prowl shivered, turning his helm into the touch and grieving when it fell away.

"That could be a while," he noted, striving for the humour that had been Jazz's gift to him over the last few weeks. "What makes you think I won't forget you in the meantime?"

It was a weak attempt, but Jazz laughed, open and honest. He grinned, and for the first time in the conversation, the glint in his visor held real humour. Prowl captured the image to his memory banks, knowing it would have to sustain him for a long time to come.

"Oh, I'll make sure you don't, believe me, Prowler. I'll make sure of that!"

* * *

The first message Prowl received from Jazz after his departure for Cybertron contained enough teasing suggestiveness to put a frown on X-Brawn's face and laughter in Prime's optics.

The second had T-AI blushing as she handed it over, and Sideburn running from the room with cheek-plates as red as the sports cars he favoured.

The messages that came after that - all the very many of them, and the ones he transmitted in return... those, Prowl kept strictly to himself.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
